Sharpe’s Defense
by Lee's Howlin Halloween Ghost
Summary: Both the French and the sea trap Captain Richard Sharpe as he fights to stop Fort Freedom from falling into enemy hands and to save the girl he has come to love. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Sharpe's Defense

By Lee's Ghost

Chapter 1

Authors note: This fic is based on the best-selling Richard Sharpe novels by Bernard Cornwell and is a non- profit work.

When Sharpe saw them he swore. He couldn't believe it he had been given some of the best troops in all of England and now they were leavening.

"Hey, where you goin' the frogs are that way," asked Sharpe cupping his hands so the troops marching down the mud socked to the far left of the fort could hear him.

"We have orders to move east," yelled back a Major with green eyes and pencil thin mustache.

Bloody orders thought Shape as rested his Baker rife against the rampart of the fort. He needed them here, the French would attack here, not in Lisbon. But there was nothing he could do so he watched them mach away.

"Seems a terrible thing to be loosein' such a great fighting force, even if they are Englishmen," said Patrick Harper as he cleaned his volley gun.

"How many men do we have sergeant?" asked Sharpe gloomily.

"Oh 'bout hundred and fifty, not cont'n Gore's Highland regiment, but they won't do much good anyway," said the big Irishman grinning broadly.

"Your right about that," said Sharpe an evil glint in his blue eyes. "Gore!" he shouted harshly, tapping a Cavalry boot on the wood floor.

A man in a redcoat slowly stumbled up the steps a canteen of cold tea in his sweaty hand. His frockcoat hung loosely around his fat body and it was full of wine and beer stains.

"Morning Sharpe," he said reaching back his large arms to let a loud yawn pass through his teeth.

Sharpe wanted badly to kill the sixty-three year old then and there but his emotions got the better of him. He stared out at the landscape in front of him trying to think of where the French would attack next. The road to the east was imposable for one to walk on let alone Marshal Victor's whole army.

Hours before a unit of engineers led by Major Hogan had cut down hundreds of oak trees and laid them across it, so the attack would not come there. The road to the west led to a bog that was waist deep on the tallest of men and Sharpe guessed most of the men could not swim so to send them through there would be murder.

The attack was to come from the north it was two hundred yard march though a grove apple trees and then they be in riffle range. That would be easy, the French would come in a long column and would be herald back by riffle and musket fire. The French would no doubt have a battery of nineponders but they would not have a long to fire for fear of hitting their own men.

Sharpe was jerked from his thoughts by the low rumbling sound of kettledrums this meant the French were coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was an hour before Sharpe saw the French troops approaching north in their tight columns with Napoleon's golden eagles rising and falling with each step. Sharpe watched as a man on horseback rode between his men shouting, "Death to England, and death to Wellington."

Sharpe spat a bullet down the barrel of his rifle and waited impatiently listening to his men's hard breathing and the scarping of a ramrod on metal. Gore's men did the same and all had an air of clumsiness about them.

It was probably their first pooper battle thought Sharpe as he showed a man how to bring back a hammer on his musket.

"We'll give Boney a whippin' t' day Sharpe you'll see," said Gore moving sword through the sour air. Sharpe paced back to his own men crouching just high enough to bring their rifles to rest on the fire step.

He grinned at them they were all good soldiers, drunks, conmen, fools, and rapists but they were still good soldiers. Harper loaded his volley gun and wiped the beads of sweat from his hard face.

"You'd think the Frogs could play a different tune every now and then?" He turned the last words in a question.

Sharpe snorted and took a place a on the rampart slowly drawing back his flint. This would be effortless he told him self as he glanced at the French they would be with rage in about thirty seconds.

Private Hagmen was the first to fire, his ball found its mark and sent the officer holding the eagle backward spraying soldiers near by him with blood. Sharpe fired next sending a Sergeant backward to be trampled by his nervous comrades.

Soon the French in musket range and Sharpe said as he bit a new cartage "Remember boys fire three rounds a minute." Gore gave the command and the Highlanders let loose a missive volley that calmed about half of the first column. The men in the second turned and ran.


End file.
